Archform Beauty

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The Cannon release was similar to what Les Kerras had left for me, except there was more detail, and more rhetoric. Cannon also sent through a sound bite clip. I ran that up on the holo display.

  "The Martian Republic has acted in bad faith. It has used a NorAm citizen to gain control of MMSystems. MMSystems is a key to the future of all Earth. It is a vital deep-space industry. This act is deceptive and despicable.

  "So are the actions of Mr. Chris Kemal. By acting as a front for the Martian Republic, he has either allowed himself to be used knowingly. Or he has been totally incompetent. Either way, his actions have endangered all of Earth in the years to come.”

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing—a sitting senator denouncing the chairman of a major NorAm multilateral, and releasing numbers to prove it.

  Bimstein! We've got a major story.

  What? Better be good.

  Two parts. First, story I was chasing. DPS is charging someone linked to Kemal with a string of murders—Iveson, McCall, and Dean Smythers. Second, Senator Cannon is denouncing Kemal for fronting for the Martian Republic in buying control of MMSystems—the deep-space tug formulating and manufacturing outfit.

  Who else has got it?

  Everyone will have the Cannon statement. We've got the exclusive on the murder counts.

  Who did they charge?

  DPS won't say. It's still in process. A high officer there confirmed that there was an arrest, and they have a suspect in custody, and that suspect is linked to Chris Kemal.

  Do what you can. Do it quick.

  I put in a call to Chiang.

  "Yes, Mr. Parsfal?" I could see the strain on his face.

  "Can you tell me who's been charged?"

  He looked at me, thought for a moment. "Emile Brazelton. It's public now, but no one else knows. No calls from other newsies. That's all I can say now.” He paused. "There won't be anything new over the weekend. Check with me midmorning on Monday.”

  "Thank you.”

  He broke the connection before I could. Bimstein… they haven't released it, but DPS confirmed they've charged Emile Brazelton with three counts of murder.

  Go with it. Get something to Paula in the next ten minutes.

  I couldn't have thrown what I had together if I hadn't already done most of it.

  The feed had barely run through Metesta when Bimstein was on the link.

  Parsfal! You got confirmations on this?

  Cannon sent us the sound clip. Lieutenant Chiang gave the confirm on Brazelton, and on the murder charges. Don't think we should name him. That's why I said a high official at DPS.

  All right.

  Good by you?

  Fairly good.

  Chiang said there wouldn't be anything new from DPS till Monday. I've got one more lead on the story. Might be a follow-up. I'll be out for an hour or so.

  Take a remote and stay on link.

  Will do.

  I'd spoken before I'd managed to see if I could even locate Luara Cornett. She wasn't at the university, but I was lucky. Unlike most filch, and in some ways she seemed filch, or maybe that was because she had an air of unattainability, she had a listed address in eastside. Actually, it wasn't listed directly, but the link codes from the university gave her home codes, and NetPrime's database revealed the conapt block for those codes, with an address. There were only ten conapts in it, and I could knock on ten doors.

  Should I go out there?

  How could I not?

  Chapter 46

  Cornett

  Friday hadn't been a good day, from the beginning. I'd overslept. I'd had trouble getting time to practice because Raymon had called. He wanted me to come to dinner on Saturday night. Then he'd told me about all the problems he and Felycia were having with Terese.

  She'd just turned thirteen and wanted to know why she couldn't do what she wanted.

  The westbound shuttle was more crowded than in previous days. About a third of the people wore masks, the kinds that had microbe blocks. There hadn't been any masks when the ebol4 epidemic first hit. Now, it was over, and people were wearing masks. The masks should have been sent to SudAm or Afrique. They might still have done some good there.

  I barely made it to the administration building at the university in time for my eleven-thirty appointment with Dean Donald. I wasn't looking forward to it. It was the second meeting with the dean in something like two weeks. Some years I hadn't met with him once. Deans usually don't deal with adjunct faculty.

  Malenda glanced up as I entered the office. "Professor Cornett, he said for you to go in. The door's open.”

  I walked in, very carefully.

  "Would you please close the door, Luara?" Dean Donald looked up from his console and smiled. "The administrivia never ends.”

  I wasn't surprised. He kept creating much of it, and most of it was unnecessary.

  "Please sit down.” He kept smiling. He waited until I sat in the center, black-trimmed, red synthleather chair. "I've been talking over next year's budget with almost every member of the Arts and Humanities faculty. As I am most certain Professor Ibanez has discussed with you, the arts face truly parlous times. The trustees have required that we implement a ten percent reduction in overall costs for the College of Arts and Humanities.”

  "Professor Ibanez stated that was the reason for reducing the number of sections of music appreciation.” I had to wonder what the meeting was all about. I'd already protested the cuts, without any effect. The dean didn't even seem to remember our talk.

  "This raises the question of whether we should continue private studio voice lessons at the university. Private voice lessons are just not cost-effective, Luara. The rez-prep class is, and the large sections of music appreciation are.”

  "Do you intend to cut out voice training?"

  "Oh… no. Not at this point, certainly. But… unless enrollments for the courses of the College of Arts and Humanities improve, or we receive other funding sources, I cannot say how long we can provide a dying discipline.”

  I forced myself not to snap back. I took a slow and deep breath and flipped back my hair. "I see.” I did see, all too well. "It seems to me that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, Dean Donald. The arts must be experienced in person to be fully appreciated. The university requires less in personal class experience, and the appreciation of the arts declines. The university then cuts personally attended classes in the arts more because enrollment declines.”

  "It is a sad situation, Luara, and you have described it accurately, but that is the way it is, and the way it will remain, I fear, unless matters change in a way I must honestly say I do not foresee.”

  "So why don't you simply require more in-person courses, both in the arts and in other fields?"

  "We cannot remain competitive if we do.”

  "It's been my limited experience that quality is always competitive.”

  "Only the quality that people want, Luara. Only what they are willing to pay for.” The dean smiled, condescendingly, and stood. "I fear we will not resolve this debate at any time in the foreseeable future, but I did want you to know the situation, and to understand that if changes must be made in the future, they will be in no way personal.” He kept smiling.

  I stood. I was so angry that all I could do was nod politely. "Thank you, Dean Donald.” It might not have been personal to him, but it was to me.

  He was still smiling when I left.

  I was steaming. I decided not to go back home, but to check my office. It was old-fashioned, but I'd never linked the office and my conapt. I still felt that unless the university wanted to make me full contract, they didn't deserve instant, around-the-clock access. I really felt that way at that moment.

  The first message was from Mahmed. He was smiling, but it wasn't a condescending expression. "Luara, I just wanted to confirm that we're on for three-thirty on Tuesday. If that's a problem, let me know. It will be a long session. Cannon has some new ads he wants to record. We may have to schedule another ses
sion on Wednesday. I hope you can do that.”

  I called him back, but only got his simmie.

  "Mahmed, three-thirty is fine. I can do Wednesday at three or later.”

  The second message was from a tall blonde woman.

  "This is SuEllen Crayno of the Crayno Agency. Mahmed Solyman of Crescent Productions provided your codes. We'd be very much interested in talking to you. If you're interested, please let me know.”

  Was I interested? How could I not be interested, with Dean Donald suggesting that he was just dying to throw me out once he could figure out a way?

  I called back, and got a simmie of SuEllen Crayno.

  "This is Luara Cornett. I'd be interested in talking with you. Mahmed spoke very highly of your agency…” I left my home codes as well.

  After that, I checked the system for memos and documents. The only thing of interest was a note from the library to inform me that the section I'd been searching manually was scheduled for purging in June. Purging? Just because no one wanted to take the time to scan the information or read through it? There was no way I could search it all by June. How many other songs or song cycles were there, like the Britten cycle, that would be lost forever? There might not be any, but I had no way to know.

  Still, I had to try. So I went back to the stacks and spent three hours. I found nothing. Then, I got a sandwich from the student center and ate it before I walked to the shuttle station to head home.

  The shuttle was almost full. Except for the handful who still wore masks, it was as if people had forgotten that two weeks before ebol4 had been raging across the continent. I didn't look at anyone. I still couldn't believe what the dean had said. But I could. Beauty didn't matter. Education didn't matter. All that mattered were little numbers on a screen that said the only way to be perceived as a good university was to do what every other university did, but more cheaply. Or cost-effectively. Or whatever.

  When I got off the shuttle, I should have been calmer. I wasn't. I walked… so fast it was almost a run… to my conapt. When I reached the lane, and the pseudo antique sign on the brick wall that announced "Eastside Courts,” I slowed, then stopped short of the group just outside my door.

  Two DPS techs were waiting for me, and a DPS officer of some sort, a small and wiry woman. She stepped forward. "I'm Sergeant Sarao, DPS.” She pronounced her name as if it were spelled "sorrow.” "We'd called you at the university, Professor. We're here because there may be some problems with the nanite system in your conapt.”

  "I just had it repaired. They've been here twice this week.”

  "It wasn't repaired correctly, according to the man who did it,” the sergeant said. "It's very dangerous. We'd like to request that you wait here with us. A master technician from Westside Physical Systems is on the way.”

  "What's wrong with the system? What did they do?"

  "We don't know. We've been told it's dangerous.”

  That was all I could get from the sergeant. So I stood in the afternoon spring sunlight, getting hotter inside and out. I waited and watched, glad that I didn't have any appointments with Mahmed or the Crayno people that afternoon and that I wasn't going to Raymon's until the following night.

  An electrolorry appeared and eased into the lane toward us. Just like the sergeant had said, it bore the emblem and name of Westside Physical Systems. I'd never heard of it. But if someone were out to get me, they could have done it with a lot less than three DPS officers and a contracting tech.

  The man who got out wore a spotless white singlesuit, with glistening black boots. He was tall, way over two meters, with a Polynesian cast to his broad face. He stepped forward to the sergeant. He carried a small case.

  "Kamehameha O'Doull, at your service—and Eugene's—Sergeant Sarao.” He turned to me, and smiled broadly. It was a friendly smile, the first one I'd seen all day. "You must be Professor Cornett. You wouldn't know, but I heard the recital you gave two years ago. I came with my niece, Anna Lilekalana.”

  I didn't recall him, but Anna had been a good student. She'd transferred to Southern University in Cedacity, and she'd even sent me a message or two. "How is she doing?"

  "She just did her senior recital. It was very good, and she thanked you in the program.” The big man's smile faded. "If you will show me your conapt, and the systems box, we'll see what we can do.”

  "Ser…” interjected Sarao gently, but firmly, "we'll need to record and authenticate what you find.”

  "I thought as much.”

  I must have opened my mouth.

  "Evidence,” Sarao said. "We'd like to make sure we have a record of an attempt.”

  She didn't say what kind of attempt, but my stomach clenched. I'd just assumed it had been sloppy or careless maintenance. Sarao's words suggested someone had been out to hurt or kill me. But who? I doubted that it was Senator Cannon. Jorje had been mad at me, and the dean wasn't exactly pleased, I was certain, but neither had the expertise to work on nanite systems. They also wouldn't have spent the credits to have someone else do it.

  I found myself opening the door, and then standing back. "The system boxes are in the closet to the right of the foyer.”

  Sarao stayed with me on the front porch of the conapt. The two techs took in recording equipment.

  "Professor Cornett?"

  I turned.

  A man hurried toward me. He wasn't that much taller than me, but he was muscular and broad-shouldered, and his eyes were gray-green. "Ah… Professor Cornett: I'm Jude Parsfal.” He looked at the sergeant. "I'm glad you're here. Did Lieutenant Chiang send you?"

  Sarao nodded.

  I looked from one to the other. They both knew something I didn't. Jude Parsfal had interviewed me about the soiree, but what was he doing at my conapt? "What do you want?"

  "To make sure you were safe. I thought DPS would be here, but when I called your office, and you weren't there, and when you didn't answer your home link, I thought I'd better come out.”

  I just looked at him.

  "Let me ask you a question, if you wouldn't mind?" he asked, almost gently.

  "I can't stop you from asking.”

  "Did the Brazelton people fix your home nanite system?"

  I couldn't believe what he was suggesting. "Did you know, and you didn't… ?"

  He shook his head, violently. "No. It's not that. I just heard from Lieutenant Chiang, and I hoped he told you, but I wanted to make sure. That's why I called everywhere and came out here.”

  "I'm all right.” I wasn't sure that I was, but I wasn't about to admit that to a near total stranger.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

  I could see the relief on his face. In a way, it was touching. He'd really been worried about me. Someone I'd only talked to once, but he had taken the time to make sure I was all right.

  I looked at the sergeant and then back at Jude Parsfal. "Could one of you two explain?"

  Sarao spoke first. "I think it would be better if Mr. Parsfal explained. He can say more.”

  "Ah…” Jude Parsfal cleared his throat. He looked down for a moment. "It's like this. I think it is. Mr. Brazelton has been taken into DPS custody, and he has been charged with various crimes. I believe that murder is one of the charges. The evidence which I know about suggests that he modified the nanite defense systems of several people so that their fuel cells caught fire and that the screens held them inside, and they died of smoke inhalation or something like that.”

  "How… horrible…” I shivered. "But… why… I don't even know the man. Or was he just… killing people at random?"

  "We don't know for certain,” the news researcher said. "It might be as simple as the fact that you spent some time at a party with Sentator Cannon, and someone thought you might be closer to the senator than you are. There's some tie-in with the senator. He's just issued a press release suggesting that Mr. Brazelton's multilateral superior has been involved in significant wrongdoing involving the Martian Republic.”

  From
the sharp look on the sergeant's face, I could tell that was new to her.

  "Because I argued with a senator?"

  Parsfal laughed. "Anyone who argues with a sitting senator is considered close enough to matter because everyone else is too busy currying favor.” He paused. "The senator listened, didn't he?"

  "He seemed to,” I admitted. I didn't want to mention the rezads, but it might help. "I'd done a few rezads for his campaign, but he didn't know that. Then, after that, I mean, after the argument, his campaign asked me to do some more, and even a special one about education.”

  Jude Parsfal frowned. "That could be the Hansen tie-in.”

  Both Sarao and I waited.

  "Kemal has been backing Senator Cannon's opponent. If you were making a difference in the way his ads were working, I wouldn't put it past Kemal to have you removed. Kemal doesn't hesitate to remove obstacles, especially if he thinks he can get away with it.”

  I had to admit I hadn't the faintest idea who or what Kemal was.

  The big technician from Westside Physical Systems walked out onto the front step.

  Sarao turned to him.

  "Eugene was right. There was a problem there,” he said. "Your techs are finishing up documenting and authenticating the changes to the system. I need to get some replacement covers for the fuel cell.” He looked at me. "Everything will be all right. Once they're finished, I'll make sure it's done the way it should be.”

  "Thank you.” I still didn't have any idea why someone would want to hurt me. The only person who'd truly gotten furious with me had been Michael. That had been years earlier. Besides, he'd been dead before the Brazelton people had worked on the system. Jude Parsfal's explanation made as much sense as anyone's, but that was scary in itself. Being targeted to be killed because you helped someone win an election?

  The Westside technician nodded, then turned and walked toward his lorry.

  "I don't want to drag you into this"—Parsfal looked almost sheepish—"but I'd like to mention this as a possibility—without using your name. Would you mind if I slipped something into the story about how it appears that others involved in Senator Cannon's campaign were apparently also targeted?"